


Drink to Forget

by whowillbestrongandstandwithme



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, but he also has problems, can be read as e/r, enj is a smol bean, r just wants him to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whowillbestrongandstandwithme/pseuds/whowillbestrongandstandwithme
Summary: Grantaire finds Enjolras, alone and drunk, after a meeting. He takes Enjolras home and tries to prevent him from saying anything he'll regret- but then Enjolras shares a secret that he has kept even from Combeferre. Somehow this night brings them closer together. The two realize they aren't so different after all.





	Drink to Forget

**Author's Note:**

> I keep going in circles with my feelings for this fic. One minute, I think it's the best thing I've ever written. Then the next, I think it's absolute trash. But hey, isn't that all of us?  
> The references to Enj's background are LOOSELY based off an amazing fic over on fan fiction.net, "Angel of Stone" by "Marius blowthebarricade." Go read that one too if you haven't before. It's definitely canon.  
> Enjoy this mess of a one-shot!

Enjolras did not fear anything.

To anyone who met him or saw him, he stood fearless in the face of everything. Enjolras was marble, carved into the shape of a man and given the heart of a lion. Fire coursed through his veins. He bore a stormy sea for eyes, threads of gold for hair, and the soul of an angel.

Enjolras claimed he did not fear anything.

Deep in the darkest shadows of his lions’ heart, he cowered from only one thing.

Enjolras feared it, but only at his most vulnerable state would he let it show.

But marble knew no weakness. It stayed firm and unbending. It may be weathered over time, and cracks may form, but it would hold strong. It would never allow itself to break.

Never.

— — —

Shadows began to cloak the city of Paris as the sun sank below the horizon. The orange brilliance gradually transformed into soft pinks, purples, and blues. Peace and quiet ruled the evening.

Inside the Musain, a different shadow fell on Grantaire as he drew, a steady hand moving the pencil across the paper. His corner of the room often had such darkness thrown upon it, but this particular shade made Grantaire look up from his work.

He recognized the cause of the shadow with a single glance. Enjolras stood in front of him, one eyebrow raised in critical appraisal.

Grantaire returned to his sketching. “Come to gloat so late, Apollo? The meeting is long since over with. I have nothing more to say to you.”

Enjolras ignored him. “What are you drinking?”

With a snort, the cynic retorted, “I hardly think this is fair. You already had your chance to criticize my habits."

He expected the marble leader to continue with one of his typical fiery responses, but he only gazed solemnly at Grantaire. He remained in his place. The darkness of his eyes never changed a shade.

Grantaire paused a moment to study the man before him, then he spoke. “It’s absinthe.” He took a sip, then he added with a quick, bitter laugh, “A few mouthfuls are enough to knock you senseless for a good long while. A whole bottle will make you forget there was ever such a black thing as melancholia. It’ll make you forget everything, in fact.”

Again, Grantaire anticipated some mocking speech. He half expected to be cut off in the middle of his own speech. Yet Enjolras still gave no response. He stood in his place a few beats, then, with a hum, he turned away.

Grantaire watched him with a frown, pencil hovering over the paper. The other man collected his coat and bag. He crossed the room and disappeared down the stairs in a blink.

A sickening knot slowly wound up in Grantaire's stomach. He swallowed hard in an attempt to calm his nerves. _Must be this drink._ His pencil went back to work and he slipped into his musings.

The sun had long since disappeared beyond the horizon when Grantaire finally set down his pencil. He stretched in his chair with a sigh. He had scribbled over more drawings than he had kept whole. He gazed at the scribbled over sketch in front of him. He imagined the negative way Jehan would react to it and almost regretted the action.

He closed his sketchbook and stood. He abandoned the bottles he had finished and took the one he had nearly completed. He left his sketchbook and pencil for the next meeting. Taking a drink from the bottle in his hand, he descended the stairs to the first floor.

The sight he beheld made him choke on the bit of absinthe in his throat.

Enjolras had never left. He sat slumped with his face in his hands, elbows on the table. His red coat hung on the back of his chair. His bag rested at his feet. His clothes were mussed, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his cravat lying on the table, as if in an attempt to cool himself off. The curls on his head, usually bouncing along in sync with every turn and every word, sagged lifelessly. In a short time, the fiery revolutionary had transformed into the opposite.

However, the overall image didn't strike him as much as a single object did. A bottle of absinthe rested on the table, just an inch away from Enjolras' elbow. It had tipped over, revealing its empty state.

The knot in Grantaire’s stomach returned full force. He dropped his own bottle. The crack of the glass on the wooden floor went unnoticed by both men.

“Enjolras...,” he mumbled.

When this call sparked no reaction, Grantaire advanced to him and exclaimed, “Enjolras, what have you DONE?!”

This time, the young leader lifted his head. His gaze fell on Grantaire immediately. His heart jolted as he stared into those unfocused, bloodshot eyes.

Enjolras didn’t even attempt a scowl. “Leave me alone,” he stated hoarsely and flatly.

He moved to lower his head onto the table. Grantaire grabbed his arm, blocking his path. “Enjolras...Enjolras, y-you're drunk!”

He heaved a sigh. “Brilliant of you to notice. Now go away.”

Enjolras made a sloppy attempt at pushing Grantaire’s arm away, but he stayed firm and refused to let Enjolras win. The leader huffed and slumped back in his chair.

Grantaire took a deep breath to calm his racing mind. “You've never had a drink in your life and…and suddenly...you drank a whole bottle of strong alcohol in, in an hour at the most!”

“Yes, and I can't say that I regret it,” Enjolras replied.

Grantaire stared incredulously. “What's wrong with you?!”

Enjolras waved his hand in dismissal and muttered something unintelligible. Grantaire thought it might have been “I'm fine.”

“Like hell you’re fine,” Grantaire retorted, “I’m taking you home.”

He grabbed both his arms and began to haul Enjolras out of the chair. The marble leader gasped and twisted out of his grasp in a sudden, frantic burst of energy.

“Don’t touch me!” Enjolras screamed shrilly.

He wildly pushed Grantaire away, however, his efforts did nothing. Grantaire held his place. Instead, Enjolras’ own force knocked him back. Grantaire caught Enjolras as he stumbled. In a flash, the revolutionary was again reduced to a trembling mess, unable to stand without Grantaire’s support. Enjolras let out a defeated whimper and his forehead slumped onto Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Enjolras.” He spoke with a firm yet gentle tone. “I’m taking you home. You need to rest.”

The cracks showed deeply in Enjolras’ marble stature. Every quivering breath he took split the fissures more and more. His tired eyes lost focus. The remnants of the storm locked inside dissipated, leaving behind a marble shell.

Doubt flooded Grantaire’s mind. He had no idea how to handle this Enjolras. He knew Apollo, not this crumbling statue.

He reached over, took the coat off the chair, and helped Enjolras into it. “It’s cold out,” he mumbled. His words fell on deaf ears.

Grantaire stuffed Enjolras’ cravat into his bag, then he picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He helped Enjolras out into the dark street, supporting him.

Grantaire did not hesitate once he stepped outside. He set off in the direction of his own apartment. He had no idea where Enjolras lived, but he needed a safe place to stay, and Grantaire lived the closest to the Musain out of everyone. They walked a few blocks to Grantaire’s apartment before they had to pause for Enjolras to throw up on the curb. Grantaire awkwardly held his hair out of his face for him and rubbed his back.

At last, they arrived inside Grantaire’s apartment. Grantaire shut the door with his foot, crossed the room, and set Enjolras’ limp figure on the couch. He set the bag at Enjolras’ feet.

“I’ll get you a cup of water.” One glance at his haggard face and blank expression told him Enjolras had likely not heard him.

He had just stepped around the couch when he caught the faintest sound.

“I’m sorry.”

Grantaire frowned and turned back. “For what?” He couldn’t resist the condescension that crept into his voice. “Getting drunk and making yourself sick on the alcohol like an idiot?”

The silence roared in Grantaire’s ears.

He retrieved a cup from the kitchen and went to fill it. In the midst of the anger and stress coiled in his stomach, Grantaire had an increasing sense that something awful had happened. There had to be some dreadful cause for his Apollo to come crashing down from his pedestal.

Grantaire brought the water to Enjolras. He took it and drank it all. No words were exchanged between the two.

They remained quiet for several minutes. Enjolras took off his coat, then curled up on the couch, pressing his knees against his chest. He stared off at nothing. Grantaire sat on the floor and picked at the soles of his boots. He couldn't decide if the situation would be worse if he left Enjolras’ side or stayed, so there he remained in indecision.

Just as Grantaire began to think Enjolras had passed out, the marble leader spoke.

“Today is the anniversary of my mother's death.”

Grantaire’s blood froze. His head snapped up and he stared at the leader. Could that be the cause? Has it been this troubling him all along?

Before he could ask these questions, the marble man continued.

“It’s been ten years...ten years since I found her on the floor of her room.”

The flat tone of his voice startled Grantaire more than the words themselves did. Enjolras never spoke without emotion, or purpose. It unnerved him.

“I was just a child,” Enjolras said, “I spent the day with the Combeferre’s. I had a new book to read with her. I finally perfected a song on the piano. I wanted to play it for her. I was so happy.”

Enjolras’ voice began to waver. “But she was dead. Cold. I tried to wake her up because...because I did not want to understand, I did not want to let her go, I-I...”

His words broke off into a shuddering sob. No tears fell yet, but Grantaire watched the crystal droplets form.

He hesitantly placed his hand on Enjolras’ arm. “I’m sorry.” He added quickly, “You should rest now. You don’t realize what you’re telling me, um, and I don’t think you honestly want me to know any more of this.”

Enjolras clasped Grantaire's arm. For a few seconds, the blazing blue fire returned to his gaze. “I know what I'm telling you!”

Grantaire knew better; Enjolras was much too drunk to be truly aware of his words. He considered fighting him, but he let the leader continue. Some twisted part of Grantaire wanted to know everything.

He tightened his grip on Enjolras’ arm. “Tell me what you want to, then.”

Enjolras gazed at him steadily, unmoving for a moment, then he abruptly slid off the couch and sat in front of Grantaire. He let go of Grantaire’s arm and pushed his sleeves up. He took the tie out of his long curls and let it fall down the front.

“You see,” he began, “I’ve taken measures to keep so much of me a secret because…well, because I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward!” Grantaire interjected, frowning.

“Hush,” Enjolras replied, “That’s not important right now. The important thing is that I’ve hidden all this. No one knows anything about me. Not really. Not even Adrien.”

Grantaire thought of Combeferre’s friendship with Enjolras and wondered how Combeferre somehow didn’t know things about Enjolras. Grantaire thought the two knew absolutely everything about each other. He leaned forward a bit in anticipation.

Enjolras licked his lips and started again. “I’ll put my secret in very simple terms. My father beats me.”

The alcohol in Grantaire’s stomach swirled uncomfortably. His heart froze in his chest. He dared to hope he had misheard. “What?”

Despite the situation, Enjolras smiled. In a different time and place, Grantaire would have been happy to see that. Enjolras smiled so rarely that many of the Amis had never witnessed it. Now, the smile only unnerved Grantaire.

“Now you understand my cowardice,” Enjolras continued, “I can’t bring myself to repeat it. I can’t manage to talk about it at all, with anyone. I’m too afraid. But I’ll do my best now.

“Yes, my father has never been the kindest man. He has always despised me. I believe he despised my mother as well. He was never faithful to her, not even while she was alive. He loved her for her beauty, he used her because of her innocence, he married her because of me, and then he turned on her. He drinks a lot. He puts on the face of a grieving widower, struggling with a rebellious and problematic son, for the public. He goes out hanging his head, dragging his feet. He comes inside our house and he transforms. He becomes what he really is.”

Enjolras paused and picked at a scab on his arm. His solemn face was flushed. His hands trembled. Fear glistened above the heavy purple bags under his eyes.

“He's a monster. And I'm afraid of him.”

He took a steadying breath and anger flared in his eyes. “But I also hate him. When he strikes me, I strike him right back. I hit him until I can’t anymore.”

Just as the fire had begun to blaze again, it faded. Grantaire had been looking at Apollo, but the moment passed, and the broken young man returned.

“But Grantaire, I am a coward.” Enjolras glanced at him when he spoke; a quick look, like a nervous child admitting to their parent how they had failed. “He defeats me every time. He reminds me how weak I am, that I’m useless, worthless, pathetic, disgraceful- “

“Stop it!” Grantaire interrupted the mantra Enjolras repeated. His heart ached more with every beat. “Where the hell did all that come from?” He already knew, in the pit of his stomach he _knew_ , but he wanted to hear it.

Enjolras wrung his hands and avoided Grantaire’s gaze. “Father says- “

“Damn it, Enjolras, don't listen to him! He's destroying you!”

“But...”

“No! There's no excuse! He's- he's- damn!” Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his forehead. Pain had begun to settle in his temples, pulsing and aching with his heartbeat.

A small sound interrupted the anxious thoughts piling up in Grantaire’s brain. He looked up and saw tears rolling down Enjolras’ cheeks. The young man bit his lip hard to keep another sob from escaping.

Grantaire scooted closer to him. Quietly, he said, “Enjolras.”

He started to say more, but Enjolras interrupted in a quivering voice. “You can call me Julien.”

“Um...Julien,” Grantaire replied. The name was foreign and clumsy on his tongue. He became caught up in that and forgot what he had planned to tell him.

Enjolras spoke instead. “No one else knows that he killed her, but I do.”

Grantaire’s mouth fell open.

Enjolras looked up at him. “He was drunk, and angry. I got home and he screamed at me. I was upset and ran upstairs to be with my mother. He knew. He laughed.” More tears spilled out of his eyes. “He said I would never be able to prove that it was him. He was right. He's right about everything.”

No longer able to hold it back, Enjolras began to sob. Grantaire made an attempt to console him, explaining that his father was most certainly not right about everything, that the things he had told Enjolras were lies, but Enjolras only wept harder, burying his face in his hands.

“Enjolras, _please_!” Grantaire pleaded. He clasped Enjolras’ shoulder, hoping that the gesture would call his attention to him.

Terror flooded his eyes at the sudden touch. His fist flew out and connected hard with Grantaire’s jaw.

Grantaire’s head snapped back. His hand flew up to clutch the injury. Shock mixed with guilt. He should have guessed that would happen. He shouldn’t have been so stupid. He met Enjolras’ gaze. Enjolras stared back at Grantaire, horrified and guilty. Neither spoke nor moved for several seconds. Then Enjolras broke the silence.

“I’ve become like him.”

Grantaire forgot the pain in his jaw, in his temples, in his chest. “No, you are not like him!”

Enjolras’ chest heaved with every breath, growing faster by the second. “I hit you. I-I got drunk and I hit you.” With this realization, Enjolras lurched forward and grasped Grantaire’s arms. “I'm sorry! Please forgive me!” Then he recoiled. “No...no, you must NOT forgive me. I'm a vile and heartless- “

“STOP.” Grantaire gently and slowly cupped Enjolras’ face in his hands. The two boys locked eyes. Softly, Grantaire spoke. “Stop. He's been filling your head with lies for too long. You are not vile, or heartless, or worthless, or pathetic, or any of that!”

“But how do you know?”

Grantaire studied the pleading, desperate, lost soul in front of him. His arms were warm where Enjolras’ hands gripped the fabric of his sleeves. His own hands were wet from the tears sliding down the marble of Enjolras’ cheeks. A lingering part of him fumed with anger; anger at Enjolras’ father for telling such horrible lies, anger at Enjolras for allowing weakness to to overcome him, anger at himself for telling Enjolras about the absinthe.

His nose crinkled slightly in frustration- he never did understand how to comfort someone. He left that to Jehan, Combeferre, and Joly. Grantaire always rallied with Courfeyrac and Bahorel to cheer the hurting friend up, once Jehan had finished administering his hugs and Combeferre his words of encouragement. He was out of his element.

A thought slithered to the front of his mind. He remembered all the times Enjolras had criticized him for drinking, and all the scathing remarks he had thrown at Grantaire. _Maybe he deserves this,_ Grantaire thought, _Maybe he deserves to know the crushing darkness that drives a man to drink into oblivion. Maybe he deserves to face the hollow blackness that grips one’s soul and drags it to Hell. He deserves to feel so alone, desperate, frightened…empty._

Grantaire blinked. He focused on the boy in front of him and took a deep breath. How could he force his Apollo to experience what he lived through every day? How could he snuff out this flame for such petty selfishness? Enjolras knew that darkness well enough. It was time to chase it away.

Grantaire chose his words carefully.

“I know because I see who you truly are every day.” The corners of his mouth tilted up in a faint smile. “You said you keep a lot of yourself hidden. Maybe that's true, but I have an artist’s eye. You can’t hide emotion and personality from an artist.”

Grantaire continued, more seriously. “Enjolras... People think you don't care. They think you’re cold and ruthless. But I see a different person. I see the passion in your eyes, and I don’t understand how anyone can miss it. You put your whole heart into everything you do. You wear your love for this country and its people on your chest. You walk these streets and speak to the people in doorways and alleys, and it hurts you to see them so downtrodden. You feel their misery just as they do. You care for them like no one else does.

“You are noble, kind, and selfless. You’re determined, passionate, independent, and fiercely loyal, especially to your friends. You encourage them, support them, fight for them. You see their individual value and strength more than anyone else sees it. You see exactly what each of them needs and when they need it, and if you can't give it to them, you know who can. You have the courage to stand up for what's right, and the fearlessness to challenge what’s wrong. You are a natural leader, a steadfast warrior, and above all, a good friend with a big heart. That’s who you are, and that’s who you will always be, and you should never change or let anyone change you.”

Enjolras sniffled and gazed at him with a spark of hope in his reddened eyes. “You know all that by looking at me?”

“Yes,” Grantaire responded earnestly, “I believe in you. I’ll show you every day why you should believe in yourself too.”

A quivering smile lit up his face. This smile encouraged and relieved Grantaire. He brushed the tears off Enjolras’ face and gave him a small smile in return. _I'm not so bad at this comforting business after all!_

Without a warning, Enjolras crawled forward, settled in Grantaire’s lap, wrapped his arms around the others’ chest, and rested his head on his shoulder. Startled, Grantaire sat unmoving. Discomfort began to wind around his stomach. But the way Enjolras had so readily sought comfort in this act melted the discomfort and more of the bitterness in Grantaire’s heart. Grudgingly, he wrapped his arms securely around Enjolras.

He snorted with laughter and then sighed. “I’ll have a hell of a time explaining this to you in the morning.”

— — —

Grantaire looked up from his easel at the sound of Enjolras retching. He grimaced, wiped the paint off his hands with a stained old shirt, stood, and stepped around the curtain shielding his art station from the rest of his apartment. With only one room, Grantaire had to make the space work. Normally, he slept on the couch. He left it for Enjolras and instead stayed awake painting.

He winced in sympathy at the sight of Enjolras on the floor, bent over a bucket. Grantaire had strategically placed it there after Enjolras had fallen asleep. He walked past him and retrieved a cup of water. He waited for the horrible choking sounds to stop, then he went to Enjolras and knelt beside him.

Trembling and sweating, Enjolras slumped against the furniture and closed his eyes. Grantaire uncertainly called his name. After repeating it several times with no response from the young leader, Grantaire lightly touched his arm. Slowly, Enjolras’ heavy eyelids lifted, and he turned his bleary gaze to the other boy.

Grantaire silently offered him the cup of water. Enjolras accepted it and took a long drink, spilling a little down his chin. He didn’t notice, or he simply didn’t care.

When he finished, he lowered the cup and looked at Grantaire. “What happened?”

Grantaire hesitated. He gingerly rubbed the bruise he sported on his jaw. “Quite a bit,” he said eventually, avoiding eye contact with him.

Enjolras frowned. “Tell me.”

Reluctantly, Grantaire replied, “You got drunk. I took you back to my apartment.”

“What else?”

“That’s all.”

“What did I say?” Enjolras glanced at the bruise and somehow turned a shade paler. “What did I do?”

Grantaire’s heart went to war against his mind. He debated his response. Enjolras deserved to know; but wouldn’t that knowledge only bring him more self-resentment? However, if he knew what had happened, wouldn’t he become even more distant from Grantaire? Wouldn’t he hold more against him? The bitterness he had towards Enjolras slithered in the no-man’s land between his heart and mind- the coiling darkness that hissed at him, _He deserves to know what you feel! Let him suffer like this!_

Grantaire drew in a deep breath and swallowed his pride. “You said a great deal. You told me about…your mother.”

Enjolras remained silent and still, but the panic and sorrow in his eyes did not go unnoticed by Grantaire. “How much did I tell you?”

As briefly as he could, while still giving everything away, Grantaire explained everything Enjolras had told him and everything he had done the previous night. He left out only the source of the bruise on his face. The softer part of him refused to let Enjolras know about that, even though the logical part of him thought that Enjolras had likely guessed already.

When he finished, Enjolras took a deep breath and pressed his lips together in a thin line, considering everything Grantaire had said. Grantaire expected him to be angry. Perhaps he wouldn’t be angry at Grantaire, but he would be upset that he knew so much now. Enjolras had shared private information that he had not told even Combeferre. He had a right to be upset.

It came as a shock when Enjolras spoke calmly.

“I suppose it was time someone knew.”

“You’re not angry?” Grantaire asked incredulously.

“No. I don’t appreciate the way this happened, but I couldn’t hold those secrets in my heart for much longer. They might have ripped me apart, in the end.”

Grantaire silently studied Enjolras. Guilt choked his heart as he remembered how badly he had wanted Enjolras to feel the same emptiness and despair that Grantaire endured. He had no right to be cruel to a boy who had already faced cruelty in perhaps its rawest form.

Enjolras continued. “Grantaire, I don’t wish for anyone else to know. Not now. They will know, in time, but I need to tell them when I’m ready.” He clasped Grantaire’s hand. “Please, don’t tell anyone. I want this to come from me. Please, can you do this for me?”

Grantaire agreed. “And when you’re ready to tell them, I will be here for you, if you need me.”

A gentle smile graced Enjolras’ marble features, healing some of the cracks.

Too quickly, the smile fled. Enjolras let out an exhausted sigh. “I am ready to go home, my friend.”

The longing in his words, in his expression, tore at Grantaire’s heart. “Then I will help you get there.”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand gratefully. Eager to be home, he rose to his feet.

Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Enjolras, I wouldn’t- “

His warning came too late. Enjolras’ body, weakened by dehydration, could not handle the sudden upright position. Enjolras stood confidently for a moment before his eyes rolled back and he fell in a faint. Grantaire leapt up and caught him, then he slowly lowered him to the floor. He patted Enjolras’ cheek and called his name until he opened his eyes.

Grantaire grinned slightly. “That’s better. I should have warned you sooner.”

Enjolras only blinked in response, still disorientated.

Grantaire sat quietly with him and let him come back to awareness on his own time. He grabbed a sketchbook and a pencil resting on the floor nearby and sketched absently.

Several minutes passed. Enjolras broke the silence first.

“Is that me?”

Grantaire looked up. “Hm?”

Enjolras could see beyond the curtain into Grantaire’s makeshift art studio. He studied the painting he had been working on all night. Enjolras was the focus of the painting; a portrait of his expression from their conversation the previous evening. The likeness to the sorrowful, bloodshot gaze Enjolras had given Grantaire was striking.

Grantaire shrugged. “Yes. I stayed up painting.”

“It’s amazing,” Enjolras replied, his voice soft with awe.

“Not entirely,” Grantaire retorted, “The background color is odd, the nose is too flat, the eyes are not evenly sized...”

Enjolras cut him off. “Nonsense! You have a real talent.” His attention was drawn to the paper in Grantaire’s hand. He propped himself up on his elbow to peer at the sketch Grantaire worked on, an assortment of different hand styles.

Grantaire laughed at the spark of childlike curiosity in his eyes. He set aside the sketchbook and pencil. “Come on, you need to get home. Combeferre must be worried.”

He helped Enjolras stand, slowly to prevent him from fainting again. However, Enjolras still came close to passing out. Grantaire let his lithe, trembling form lean against him.

“It’s alright. I’ll help you walk,” he reassured.

Enjolras closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “No.”

Grantaire started to protest.

“I cannot do it,” Enjolras interrupted, “I’m afraid you’ll have to carry me.”

Grantaire spluttered awkwardly, then he said, “Are you sure?”

“Please, R.”

Grantaire crumbled at the use of his nickname. Combined with the pleading crystal eyes, he couldn’t resist the request. He wrapped one arm around Enjolras’ shoulders and tucked the other one under his knees, then he carefully lifted him up. Enjolras kept his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, his expression impassive.

Grantaire stepped closer to the couch. “Can you reach your coat and bag?”

Enjolras nodded slightly and, after Grantaire leaned over, grabbed his coat and bag. Once the items were settled in his lap, Grantaire set out the door. At Enjolras’ request and a little direction, he took back roads and alleys to the apartment Enjolras shared with Combeferre. Enjolras didn’t want anyone to see him so weakened.

While they traveled, they conversed lightly with each other. Grantaire’s heart lifted with relief when he discovered Enjolras rarely saw his father anymore. He had moved out as soon as he could, with help from Combeferre and his family.

They fell silent after a few minutes. Enjolras closed his eyes, lines of discomfort etching across his face. Grantaire walked at a steady, slow pace, careful not to jostle Enjolras.

Enjolras opened his eyes and broke the quiet. “R?”

“What is it?”

“Is this how you feel all the time?”

Grantaire hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“Today, I feel...like my head is going to break apart. I feel like there is a snake in my stomach, writhing around, coming up to my throat and then sliding back down. I’m shaking so much. I am burning up and freezing at the same time.”

Enjolras paused before he spoke again. “And yesterday was somehow worse. I felt...nothing. Nothing at all. And then there were intervals where I felt such horrid sadness, or anger, or fear. All I wanted was to get rid of the emotion, but every time I felt nothing, it was worse than feeling something. Still today, I am so aware of the hollow in my chest.”

Grantaire listened, chewing on his lip nervously. His dark wishes for Enjolras to fully experience his suffering had come true. Instead of triumph, however, sickness of his own twisted in Grantaire’s stomach.

At his silence, Enjolras wrung his hands and lowered his gaze. “I apologize, I am not exactly myself today.”

Grantaire sighed. “Enjolras, there’s no need to apologize. I... yes, I do feel that way. Either way. A lot. But when I’m drunk, it goes away. It’s a small amount of time, but it’s enough. I am addicted to it.”

Grantaire avoided his gaze, afraid of the pity or condemnation he might find there. When he finally did look at Enjolras, however, the sorrow and empathy in those wide orbs overwhelmed him.

“R, I-I am so sorry,” Enjolras said, voice thick with emotion, “I can’t believe how callous I have been to you for this. I should have tried to understand, tried to help. I feel awful.”

“Enjolras...”

“What can I do to atone for my mistakes?”

Grantaire stopped walking and fixed Enjolras with a steady gaze. “Enjolras. I forgive you. There’s nothing you need to do to fix anything.”

Enjolras grasped Grantaire’s shoulder. “There must be something!”

He considered this for a long moment. Then he smiled.

“The greatest thing you could do is believe in me when I cannot believe in myself.”

A fierce look of determination appeared on Enjolras’ face. “You have my word.”

With that, Enjolras gave Grantaire a tight hug. Grantaire returned the embrace, his heart soaring.

It took only a few more minutes to reach the apartment. Combeferre appeared at the door seconds after Enjolras knocked. Grantaire had no doubt he had been waiting for that knock for hours, most likely pacing the room and intently listening for Enjolras’ voice or any other sign of his presence.

Combeferre immediately took Enjolras into his arms and cradled him against his chest. “Where have you been?! Why did you not come home last night?!”

Enjolras remained silent, burying his face in Combeferre’s shoulder to avoid responding.

Having successfully completed his task, Grantaire made an attempt to slip away without the two noticing. Combeferre saw and stopped him anyway.

“Thank you, R! I’m so grateful to you for bringing him home safe! How can I repay you? Would you like to come in for tea?” He frowned at the bruise on Grantaire’s face. “You’re hurt! Come in and I’ll get a cold cloth and some ointment for that.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m quite alright. You don’t owe me anything. I will see you both at the next meeting.”

Combeferre opened his mouth to insist. Enjolras spoke before he could.

“R!” Enjolras turned and reached for him.

Grantaire paused. “Yes?”

“I believe in you, too.”

He clasped his arm. “Thank you.”

The two exchanged a knowing look while Combeferre watched, mystified. Then Grantaire disappeared down the hall. He heard Combeferre and Enjolras speaking as he descended the stairs.

“Enjolras, what was that about?”

“I realized I am not so different from Grantaire after all.”

Grantaire grinned and hopped down the remaining stairs. He stepped outside and stopped to watch the sky transform with the sun’s rays, gazing at the pinks and oranges. His heart reflected the glow, basking in the newfound understanding between him and Enjolras.

And for the first time in months, he was truly happy.


End file.
